


A Bridge Across the Rubicon

by misura



Category: Tour of the Merrimack - R. M. Meluch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Character Death Fix, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:19:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: a reunion on Terra Rica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bridge Across the Rubicon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettymanly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettymanly/gifts).



> although I haven't read it yet, I'm pretty sure the newest book makes this fic an AU
> 
> this fic opens at some point in _Strength and Honor_ and - well, if I said it fixed something, I'd imply something'd been broken, and I'm still in denial about you-know-what, so instead I'll say this fic speculates about how and where and with whose aid Augustus survived.

Augustus wondered what part of the _Merrimack_ he would have to shoot in order to move Farragut to give the order to kill him. He'd already accounted for two U.S. ships - only a fool could doubt by now whose side Augustus was on.

Unfortunately, Augustus knew all too well that John Farragut was, in fact, a fool.

Better, perhaps, to have killed the man when he'd had the chance - any of the times he'd had the chance, but aside from an idiot, Farragut was also lucky. Thus, he was still alive.

Killing Farragut _now_ would be too risky. The pattern Augustus had decided on was unlikely to remain intact if the _Merrimack _went down. Farragut needed to live, and Augustus needed to die. To allow himself to be shot down by an inferior ship would be dishonorable, un-Roman. Only the _Merrimack_ could take that shot, and only Farragut could order her to do so.__

 

Farragut ordered the shot.

Augustus wondered if it had been as easy an order to give as the one Farragut had given in the Myriad, when he'd risked his entire ship and her crew for two of his people.

Probably not.

Nice to think he'd finally gotten under the man's skin after all this time.

 

Munda was a cautious man, and Imperial Intelligence served Rome first and Caesar second.

For anything of true importance, the pattern would have been too flimsy; new Caesars were prone to bringing in new faces, and while Imperial Intelligence might possess a certain amount of independence, they were as much prone to the prejudice that Caesar _was_ Rome as the next Roman.

Lucky, then, that nothing of true importance was at stake.

Luckier still, that the technology used to create patterners had barely changed since Secundus's time. Augustus possessed a data receptable, nearly identical to the one inside his own head. The data that had been copied onto it by now _was_ identical.

Not quite a heart, kidney, lung and bone, but it would have to do.

 

Munda died in his sleep, mere days after he had traded Augustus a worthless life for a very valuable data receptable. (That the data receptable would also ensure Caesar's murderer would not go free was a mere coincidence; Augustus had not seen the need to mention it, and Munda had not asked.)

He'd been a cautious man, and discrete, but Romulus called himself Caesar, and he was paranoid, rather than merely cautious.

For the moment, the pattern held.

 

Getting off Palatine by using public transport would have been impossible. A patterner could not mingle - he was too recognizable.

Imperial Intelligence had a Striker, but they were unlikely to misplace it, and Augustus was disinclined to draw their attention by stealing it. Only a patterner could fly a Striker, and at this moment, as far as Imperial Intelligence was concerned, there were no patterners left alive anywhere in the universe.

As soon as they were done with the data receptable, the Striker would either be dismantled or, more likely, put in storage somewhere, to wait for Romulus's patterner. If Romulus would ever commission a patterner.

Or, by way of a third option, it might be acquired by a Terra Rican who thought he might adapt the little ship for his own private use. Imperial Intelligence could have told him the idea was impossible - might actually even have done so, but _Don_ Cordillera would not see reason. He had witnessed the Striker in action and now he wished to own it. The price he offered was more than generous.

Imperial Intelligence consulted Romulus. Romulus informed them he would be delighted to never have to set sight on Augustus's Striker ever again - provided, of course, that no data of any kind would change hands along with it. Terra Rica might be neutral, but it would never do to take any risks.

Two days later, _Don_ Cordillera could call himself the proud new owner of a very expensive ship he'd never be able to operate. A Terra Rican merchant picked it up, put it in its cargo hold.

Didn't bother to check for unlisted passengers. _Don_ Cordillera was a generous man, and well-liked.

 

The first thing Augustus did upon arrival on Terra Rica was hand Jose Maria a long list of items required to get the Striker back in working order. True to their assurances to Romulus, Imperial Intelligence had done their humble best to gut the small ship of anything useful.

The second thing he did was return _Don_ Cordillera's guitar.

"In my culture, to return a gift is considered an insult," Jose Maria told him.

Augustus glowered. "There is a stock market on this planet?"

"There is no need," Jose Maria informed him, serenely. "I am a rich man, Augustus. There is no need to even say 'thank you', if you find the words too difficult to get out."

Jose Maria's lips curved in what might be a smile.

Augustus turned his head, spat out: "Thank you." Failed to appear at the dinner table that evening.

Did not, at any point in the week that followed, ask for news about John Farragut.

 

There was, Jose Maria explained, no reason for Augustus to accompany him to Xi. It was close to Palatine, close to Thaleia - the risk of someone spotting the Striker and recognizing it for what it was, who it had to contain was too high.

Augustus studied the data, studied the _Mercedes_. Considered the pattern.

Sternly forbade Jose Maria from mentioning his not-death to Farragut, should Jose Maria happen to run into the man - which seemed unlikely, given Farragut's tendency to go wherever there was battle to be had, put next to Jose Maria's objective, but Farragut often did the unexpected, and Augustus was in no mood to be smothered to death by some idiot who thought he'd had Augustus killed.

 

Romulus went to the Vatican, and that was according to the pattern.

John Farragut saved Jose Maria from getting eaten by Gorgons in the nick of time, and that had _not _been according to the pattern. It shouldn't have happened, _wouldn't_ have happened, if Munda had passed on Augustus's information to his successor (possible), if Imperial Intelligence had figured things out on their own (not impossible), if Romulus had been less of a psycopathic madman (unlikely).__

Their trip to Corindahlor followed the pattern - the Striker's systems picked up both the signal Farragut activated when he touched the monument and the res signals going out in response.

For all his annoying impredictability, you could still trust John Farragut to do the sentimental things, the stuff nobody sensible would bother with, because they knew better.

 

 _Don_ Jose Maria de Cordillera was as bad as Farragut, of course, in some respects.

 

Farragut saw the Striker first - intentionally, Augustus suspected. Jose Maria would probably prefer for the man to not die from a heart attack upon being presented with a man Farragut thought long dead - and by his own hand, no less.

Augustus could have stepped back inside the house, retreated to the room Jose Maria had declared to be his. Could have delayed the inevitable for another few minutes. Didn't.

Was wearing Farragut shortly after, complete with back thumping and drops of something that felt like water dripping on his neck. All in all, it was about as uncomfortable and irritating as he'd expected it to be, and Jose Maria might as well have been a piece of furniture for all the help he was in getting Farragut to let go already and start pretending he was at least moderately civilized.

 

"How - " Farragut started, then shook his head. "No. I won't even ask this time. Just ... why?"

"It was necessary," Augustus said. Farragut would not, _could_ not understand. Not truly. Farragut wasn't Roman. "Romulus needed to believe I was dead."

Farragut scowled. "I got that much." Someone had explained things to him, apparently. "What I meant was: why this?" Someone should have also explained to him how to speak more clearly. "Why the whole - you could have just left. I'd never have known."

"I doubt _Don_ Cordillera wouldn't have told you." Jose Maria was remarkably fond of Farragut. It was Farragut's talent: to inspire love and respect in those around him. A useful talent in a leader.

Jose Maria looked slightly offended. Farragut looked disgruntled. "So what?"

"I - " Augustus began, then realized there was no good ending for that sentence. "It's - "

Farragut was grinning, pleased as punch. As if he'd just scored a point on Augustus. "You like me. We're friends - _that's_ why you couldn't just walk away."

"We are not friends," declared Augustus scornfully.

"Star-crossed lovers," suggested Jose Maria.

Farragut looked aghast. "Hardly that."

At least they were in agreement _there_.

"Although I'll grant you things haven't always been easy, Jose Maria," added Farragut, as pleasantly as if they were discussing the weather. "Still, all ends well that ends well, eh?"

"If you even for a moment think that - " Farragut got up. Reached out a hand and put it on Augustus's arm. Skin on skin contact. Augustus had always hated people touching him. Had told Farragut so several times.

Farragut never listened. "Sleep on it," he suggested. Jose Maria nodded - the voice of wisdom had spoken. "Can't stay here forever - got to crawl out of your shell some time."

"Go to hell."

Said Farragut: "Could've just stayed dead if that was the plan."

 

Infuriating fact: Farragut was right. Augustus couldn't stay on Terra Rica forever. He was a patterner, and he had a working Striker. Could go anywhere in the universe. Do ... well, that was the question, wasn't it? He'd been given life to serve Rome, but now he'd given his life back.

Numa might have a use for a patterner, even one that was well past its expiration date.

Augustus did not want to serve Numa. Rome, yes - he was still Roman, after all. No death could change that. Augustus was Roman, but he was no longer Rome's. If he belonged to anyone, he belonged to the person to whom the late Caesar Magnus had given him. The gift had never been revoked, after all - not by anyone with the authority to do so.

By rights, Augustus was Farragut's.

Still, Farragut's or not, there were things Augustus could not, would not put up with, and being woken in the middle of the night by someone playing the guitar very poorly outside his window was assuredly one of those things.

Augustus opened the window. Looked down at the smiling face of Farragut.

"You're an idiot."

Farragut grinned and replied cheerfully: "But you're not dead."

Impossible to refute that statement.

Augustus closed the window and pretended to go back to sleep.

 

"You've read the file your Naval Intelligence compiled on me."

Jose Maria had excused himself, claiming urgent business elsewhere. Augustus had decided the best defense was a good offense - or he would have decided that, had the situation warranted any kind of either defense or offense.

"Probably," said Farragut. His tone implied he'd read a lot of things and that it would be unreasonable to expect him to remember all of it.

John Farragut was not the kind of man who forgot things about people he considered his. At least, not things those people had told him themselves.

"You're not my type," said Augustus. Dismissively. Implying his type was people better than Farragut.

"You're not exactly mine, either," said Farragut with a grin. Implying there were exceptions to every rule.

"Masochistic." Augustus's type wasn't masochistic. He didn't particularly care if his partners enjoyed his idea of fun, even if he generally made sure they enjoyed it enough not to force him to kill them. "Submissive."

Farragut chuckled at that one. Submissive wasn't the same as 'weak', but it came close. Farragut knew how Augustus felt about weak. "You saying I can't take orders?"

John Farragut could take orders very well. One of the things about him that didn't fit the pattern. People like Farragut always got too powerful to be content following orders at some point.

Augustus said nothing.

"Might be better at giving them," acknowledged Farragut. "Still, willing to try everything once."

Augustus didn't particularly want to give Farragut any orders. Might want Farragut to give them to _him_. Would rather die than admit it.

"I won't take up arms against Rome."

Farragut looked like Augustus had just promised to return to the _Merrimack_ with him. With good reason. "No problem. Wouldn't have expected you to, anyway."

Augustus probably should have seen it coming that time. Didn't. Was wearing Farragut again, back thumping and all, but kept his neck dry this time.


End file.
